Change the Channel
by wolfy447
Summary: It's the 57th annual Hunger Games. Logan Mitchel versus your favorite Teen Nick stars, who will survive, who will fall madly in love, and who's a vicious psychopath? All of this and more in 'Change The Channel.' A Hunger Games story. JamesXLogan KendallXLogan LoganXCarlos
1. Chapter 1

"Hello I'm Ceaser Flickerman coming to you live all the way from the capitol. With me today is no one else but the winner of last years Hunger Games, Mr. Kendall Knight from district ten!" He turns to look at the beautiful boy sitting beside him. I can't help help but admire the way the purple lights reflect off the dirt blonde hair that hangs out from beneath that brown beanie. A boy, from my district, won last year.

It was no easy arena. My stomach churns at the thought of the reaping, only days away...

What are the odds that two years in a row we have a winner from district ten. Let alone it being another boy. It's my last year in the running. How weird, I spent the last seven years doing everything I could to avoid the very idea of entering the arena. Now as I come up on my last opportunity to go I can't help but want to. There isn't much to do in this life.

I look over at my mother, a wise woman. So smart, so beautiful. So cheery even when the camera's aren't rolling. I don't know how people can survive without a woman like her in their lives. It must be dreadful. She works so hard. A single mother of an only child she and I have become a team over the past couple of years.

I rise from the couch and grab my boots from beside the door. As I'm putting them on I keep my attention on the boy who won last year. Everytime he answers a question it's never one a typical audience would suspect.

"You going for a ride sweetie?" She asks with a smile.

I turn to her and watch as she does that thing where she slips strands of blonde hair behind her left ear. The cheeks of hers so naturally rosy, the blue and white dress she wears down to her ankles catches the light from the opening door my hand clutches so gently. "Yeah." I tell her. "You never know when your last chance to be free might be." I give her a smile and walk out the door.

Before the door shuts I hear her call out, "Be careful Logan!"

I'm always careful. I'm always a good kid. I'm always kind and polite and open. I don't want to be that way anymore. It's such a boring life. Looking out at all the animals in their pins I can't help but think about how lucky I am. To have the things others don't.

As I walk over to Fernando, my stallion. I spot the four boys out by the old mill, they've had their eyes on Fernando for weeks. Hunger has seeped in for the kids at the orphanage. They, as the oldest, see it as their job to provide for the younger ones at the home. I know they plan on doing something to my horse, even if doing so results in death. Every day they call out to me, mocking me. Every day I respond the same way.

I give them a few eggs from our prize hen Miranda.

Pulling the handkerchief out from my shirt pocket I walk over to see that it's a good day for her. The amount of eggs she's laid is twice her daily debut. With a smile I tell her hello and scoop up eight of the golf ball sized unfertilized young and cradle them in the warmth of the blue and white fabric. With a gentle tie of the corners I can't help but feel a sense of pride as they don't connect as well as they do with only four eggs inside.

I turn to see that two of the four boys are making their way too me. They seem to be in a mood today.

"Hey Pansy!" Yells out the first. Marco, it's his last year in the running too.

The two boys who still stand at the gate start calling out instigating a fight but I keep my cool. "Hey Marco. Hey Rakeen."

Rakeen gives me the same sneer he usually does. I can never really read what's going on in his mind but the way he looks at me is not the same as the other three. Sometimes I fear it, today I can't help but feel a little giddy.

"What you trying to be a little generous today." Marco scoffs. His eyes finding the handkercheif in my grasp.

Looking up into his eyes I smile. "Not me... Miranda." I glance over my shoulder at her ruffled feathers the color of mildew and milk.

Automatically the stress on Marco's face faded like morning fog. He smiled as I laid the bundle in his grasp. "Thanks... Logan." Odd, he never uses my real name. Turning to walk in the direction of the other two he only looked over his shoulder once.

The hooting from the younger kids over by the fence, green from the moss that grew over the oak, had stopped upon seeing the amount of eggs I had to offer. It's interesting how just a little hunger can bring out the insanity in people. "Rakeen!" Called out one of the boys. "You coming?"

"I'll catch up." His voice barely carries but the other three didn't hesitate to set off down the dirt road. Not even looking back to check on him.

Rakeen places an open hand on the neck of Fernando. "You love this horse don't you?" He asked.

"More than I myself can comprehend." I tell him. "He's the only thing that's kept me from saying goodbye to this life."

"You know I've noticed you before. You're very... strange." I'm trying to grasp his meaning as I watch the wind blow through his long brown locks of hair that hang down to his neck. "You lack drive. It's almost like you want to die... the kids from the home, they uh... they struggle everyday just to survive. Dreaming of living the life you have and then I look at you. The way you see the world, they way you speak. You don't want to see tomorrow."

"I do..." I'm thrown off by his abrupt honesty. What does someone respond to a comment like that. As I look down at his dirty button up shirt and then back up at the scruffy beard that's already full grown despite him only being seventeen. "I just... I'm tired of being the small alabaster stroke of a brush on a canvas made up of mediums. Does that makes sense?" I can't help but run a hand through the thick black hair shaved on the sides of my head up into the fluffy poof of bangs I barely remember to take care of in the morning. They're probably a mess right now.

"Actually yeah... I appreciate you not talking to me like I'm stupid. Your mother..." He nods in the direction of my house. " and people like her... they act like I can't read a book. I know they can't help it. Everyone's so focused on themselves they don't have time to think."

All I can do is give him a half smile as he turns to look at the dirt road. "Thanks for the eggs." He says over his shoulder.

"Yeah no problem." I don't think I've ever known a friend, at least not the human kind, in this life, unless you consider mother, but this is the first time I've ever felt someone reach out from the protection of their own clothing as if something beyond themselves existed. As though I existed.

It feels so weird. Someone looking at my existence as something other than a face in the blur of their own memories. That's generally all they are to me. Life almost has no meaning aside from Fernando and aside from my mother. Even she can seem hollow at times. The same phrases over and over in response to practically any question I have. 'It's the capitol darling. We must trust in the capitol darling. It'll all work out one day Logan, just so long as we hold out faith in the capitol." How can I... I don't really think about them that much.

My thoughts consist of only a few things. I run over them as I begin to climb fernando. Everyday I do this. First I ask myself about the color of my socks. If they are blue, today I will approach the world as if I'm in pain. Not physically, emotionally. I will wear an expression that says 'I'm beyond words.' On those days my silence is my friend. If they are black, as they are today, I will wear an expression of optimism. As though there is a world beyond this one, I will smile. If they are white, I wear the expression of confidence. I will tackle the day as though I'm the person everyone is paying attention to. I often choose the white one's on days of occasion. If my mother chooses to awaken me early for an event such as the reaping or the birth of a new calf.

I reach the top of the hill, my fathers apple orchard left to me in his will, and I can see as far as district twelve and the next question follows. 'Who should I interact with today.' I sort through the mess of faces I generally come into contact with. I make a mental note to speak to that person at least once that day. If i ever do so more than once I consider it an accomplishment and document it in my files of positivity. Today I notice Peyton Abernathy outside the dental office.

How odd, what would an orphan like Peyton be doing at the dentist. Peyton, age fourteen, has no left arm. He gets around well though, for a kid who can't afford to eat properly. I began to ask myself why it concerned me when this sound catches my attention.

A path in the orchard I never take has the suttle taste of adventure behind it. I love the idea of doing things differently than I did them yesterday. Usually my third question of the day. 'What can I do that's new.' It dawns upon me that I'm listening to the sound of screaming. I make a note to go see Peyton today before nudging Fernando with the rubber of my boot. His thick neck rises and sinks a few times before he gently turns and trots in her direction. I think even he knew I was needed.

A weird smile spreads across my face as i allow a memory to flood my mind. A girl from the school yard who's mind is a little different than most creatures I've collected in my thoughts. Is it odd I find her here of all places? There, dangling upside down in a tree, laughing as if something was funny as smoke rose from her hair. "I found a wall." She, from where I'm standing atleast, seemed to smile at me with only half of her face. I didn't know if it was on purpose or if it was a shock from the barrier. I hoped for the first, I love an odd character trait. Perhaps that's why I'm so drawn to the idea of Peyton.

"yes... it would seem so." I furrowed a brow at young Camille Roberts. She was most know for scaring little girls on the playground with her stories of tributes who never left the mortal coil. The concept of a spirit never leaving an abandoned arena seemed to somehow frighten even me. I admired her vast imagination. "Are you alright."

"No." She lets out a small chuckle.

"Good." I hover beneath her and she falls into my hand. Why did I do that? Why did I choose to say that? It was almost like Fernando knew she was going to jump.

She climbs out of my clutch and swings a leg over yelling, Heya! at Fernando. I found it to be very intuitive. Ferndando did not. Rising up on his hind legs we were speeding off out into the clearing before she had a chance to get a good grip. My arm reaching out to pull her back in just in time as we gallop down the hill in the direction of my home.

I let her off way down at the bottom of the driveway to venture off in the direction of school. I don't have to attend the public school. My mother reads to me information from books with a woman name Winnie every Tuesday. I think she was just here the day before yesterday. 'If I'm lucky I wont ever have to see her again.' Are those my thoughts?


	2. Chapter 2

It seems I've run into one of the mentors for district 10.

I had just roped Fernando up to the beam outside the pub. I'm allowed inside only because it belonged to my grandfather Thadius before he died. Old age, a privilege for those who survive the games. Victors they call them. He wasn't a showboat. He was a businessman, he opened the pub years after he purchased the orchard from some peacekeepers. He opened it the day after he discovered how to turn an apple into a drink worth a nickle and a penny.

She's resting on her elbows beside on of the stools, a bag beside her full of money and important papers. That must've come from the capitol. She looks over at me and smiles but it's hollow and I just know the sight of me makes her uncomfortable. Jo Taylor, blonde hair and blue eyes the winner of the quarter quell just seven years ago.

I particularly enjoyed that year's games. The theme was a musical.

They had forced each and every child to make noises. At first, so peculiar and then when they made us sing it dawned upon me. I think me being in private lessons gave me a sort of advantage on the confusion that year. The poor orphan kids seemed to flourish better than the rest of us. I was too young to participate yet still they made me sing songs from a time long before the war.

Some of them are still stuck in my head.

Watching her win was kind of an exciting moment for me. It was the first year I ever rooted for someone. Typically it's a scary death match and all the kids from outline districts are terrified because we know it's a slaughter house but there I was on the edge of my seat as whistle tones and daggers made their way into soft spot. Her versus that vile Cat Valentine. Both of them very talented. Am I a bad person because I wanted a girl from district 2 to win. She seemed a little off in the head but her character had more depth than this victor before me.

I can't help but feel a sense of remorse for her. Eyes fixed on the screen she watches last years victor ramble on and on about how much of an honor it is to represent his district. He ensures that there will be a winner from district ten in the near future because he feels that we're in our prime. "It's in the water." He smiles and his brows rise as he grins at Ceaser.

"What's in the water?" The host wants more. They all want more.

I love the idea of an audience. The entire world taking in your art at once. That's what I believe we are, art. The concept of life for me is to live in a way that's so different and new that when I become the universe again I'll look back and say 'what a ride that life was.'

"Ambition. District ten is a place of confidence."

"I guess We'll find out this year when we select 24 tributes." The camera closes in on Ceasars face as he cocks an eyebrow. "To represent their districts in the 57th annual HUNGER GAMES." His roar lights up the crowd. So young to be influencing the nation so well. It's the guys first year and honestly I've seen such a dramatic host. I suppose that's good, it means the tributes from outline districts like mine might, for once, get a chance to really reel in sponsers. I doubt anyone in the capitol was rooting for Josephine Taylor or Kendall Knight in either the Fiftieth or the Fifty sixth games. Only a single district behind the two of them bringing us home to victories. The first two champions in over three decades.

"You got my apples Mitchel?" The bartender catches my attention. I can't help but smile, it excites me when any character chooses to make contact with me. Even if I know it's coming I sense the sincerity in there voice when they speak to me. How they debated the words they would use, the frustration in their eyes as they attempt to look at me and decide to look at something over my shoulder instead, the genuine kindness in there response when I acknowledge their presence. I wonder, is this how other people think?

I rested the bag down on the table, collected my coins, and made my way back out to Fernando.

As I'm saddeling back onto my horse I hear a familiar voice. It's stuns me when I turn to see, hobbling towards me with a smile, shouting my name from across the clearing at store in the town square, the person I had planned on seeing that day anyway. I've always hated that square, not because it's small, because it blocks off the horizon. They all connect and it makes my eyes hurt. "Logan Guess what!" He cries.

After getting over the initial shock of being greeted so spontaneously I just throw a hand in the air to show that I see him. He steps up on the sidewalk and holds out a piece of paper to me. I take it and an odd feeling strikes me as I read what it says. "A pension of sixty six names placed in the district 10 annual raffel recieved for the purchase of one Prosthetic Limb."

"Your arm?" I felt my brown furrow up as I sensed the sudden urge to confront him about it. "Why would you do that peyton?"

He seems stunned by my response. "You told me to take chances." What? "Just last week you said to me that I wasn't just a malfunction. You said..." Oh it's coming back to me now. I told him he needed to take what he deserves. That he matters. "That I'm a character in my own life story. The main character."

I smile, suddenly I'm not bothered by his choice anymore I'm thrilled. "If they pick you?" My mouth curls up into an inspirational half grin.

"I'll give it my all." He demands with a fist in the air.

"Good, they'll need that in the fifty eight annual hunger-games." I jump up to straddle the saddle.

"You mean fifty seventh." He calls up at me just as the sunlight passes over my head to shine in his eyes.

"Or that." I bounce a brow, slowly, cautiously, watching as his expression shifts. I run my heel across Fernando's thigh and he turns to trot in the opposite direction.

"You're an odd Kid Mitchel." Just as he says that I notice a woman in a big red dress walking towards the square pass me nodding her head. Is it possible she's agreeing with this kid?

I suppose I'll take it as a compliment.


	3. Chapter 3

For some reason I didn't wake up till three PM the following afternoon.

I had this particular pep in my step. Unsure of myself I looked over at the pale blue dresser beside the door to spot the days socks laid out on the flat top surface. I squint as it dawns upon me that mother has selected a pair I've never seen before. A red pair. I can actually hear her out in the hallway, she must be doing laundry because it's the only time I can faintly hear her singing.

Rising I shuffle my bare feet across the blue fibers in the shag carpet noting how they tickle my feet in ways I'd never noticed until now. Pressing my shoulder against the frame I looked out at her. She's across both banisters on the other side of the floor. Our rooms are on the second floor and looking down over the painted white wood that separates me from the drop. The image of falling floods my mind and I twitch my neck.

"Mother."

She jumps at the sound of my voice. Is she afraid of me?

"Oh mercy, Logan. You scared me..." She looks up at me from the basket in her clutch. It's made of plastic I figure it must have been expensive. I'm absorbed with the idea of this almost useless item she seems so intent on holding right now.

"I'm supposed to be wearing the white socks today." I tell her. "I've never worn red socks before."

Her eyes find my feet and I swear she sighs in relief. "They're new. I know how you love new things Lo, I figured today would be a good day to try them since you slept so late anyways. If you'd prefer the white ones they're in the dryer they'll be done soon."

"No..." My face curls into a grin. "I think I would like to try the red socks. After all..." I say as I reach through the frame of my door to clasp my fingers over the thick velvet red socks pulling them off the stand with a smooth delicacy as if they're a reward. "I may never get another chance."

Her tension turned ease became an anxiety. "That was a little morbid honey..."

I'm already pulling them up to my ankles when it occurs to me that I'm hungry. "Is there food already made down stairs."

She nods. "It's in the oven, help yourself."

My mind echoed a name 'Fernando.' all of a sudden my brain sees an image of the boys from the Orphanage and I feel a sharp pain in my chest.

"Oh, I think your horse ran away honey. I figured he was up in the orchard. If you'd like I'll walk with you up there to look." What is this? This feeling? Am I in pain? No? Is it fear? Maybe. I think I know something that I don't know. Is my horse okay? Those boys...

"Yes but lets hurry." I tell her as I find my boots by the banister and walk around to the other side to pull a flannel from a hanger by her head through the doorless frame dividing the room from the hall. "I worry he didn't run." I look into her beautiful blue eyes. "I worry he might be in someones stew right about now."

"This is news." She follows me as I race towards the staircase. "Who would do such a thing?"

"Did you think the kids from the Orphanage were my friends?" I turn to look at her as my hand grabs the brass nob.

"Yeah." She furrows a brow as she reaches up to grab a brown jacket and throws it over her shoulders. The white long sleeve shirt she's wearing pairs nicely with her blonde bob and pale blue skirt.

"I haven't been donating to the poor mother, I've been keeping monsters at bae by feeding them the unborn." I wonder, but only for a second, just how morbid that comment must have sounded to her.

Just as she and I reach the driveway leading up into the orchard I hear a familiar voice. The two of us pause and look down the hill to see, coming from town, was Camille. She's riding Fernando. "Hey!" She calls out. "I thought you were sick so I took your horse on his daily ride." When Fernando's at my side and she slides down to smile at me the fear and paranoia rush from my body.

It had never occurred to me that although I hate repetition my horse is probably used to the routine I naturally do. Collecting from Miranda, riding up to the Orchard on Fernando, taking him to the pub, and allowing him to drink from the pond at the fountain as I visit the library. I absolutely love the Library, maybe if I have time this evening I should return the book I borrowed yesterday. What was it even about?

"See Logan." My mothers voice draws me from my void of thoughts. "Nothing to get worked up about."

"Oh absolutely not." I assure. "Actually I deeply appreciate that. Anyone who cares about Fernando I suppose I consider a friend."

I watch as my mother smiles as if I had just done something she approves of.

"Oh wow cool socks." Camille's eyes find my feed and suddenly I'm embarrassed. What do I say, people don't compliment me.

"Thanks." I whisper. "They hold me to the ground."

She laughs and I find it intoxicating. I don't believe I have ever enjoyed a conversation with someone this much. It's like a rhythm I think. A pattern. Those are fun to find in unexpected places. She does this so well, her brain waves must be releasing some strong chemical. Yeah that must be it, I can feel it radiating off of her like I can smell the boys from the Orphanage or a skunk in the ditch I happen by every so often. However unlike those I enjoy this.

"Camille would you like to join us for dinner this evening. I'm sure when Logan gets back from his daily trip to the library he'd love to have you over."

"Oh no thanks... I have to get home. My baby brother is expecting me to hose him down today. Maybe some other time." She smiles at me before she starts off down the road and I'm plagued with the feeling of despair. I wont have another time. Oh well... you win some you lose some right.

I may find another character to interact with while I'm at the Library. That'll probably counter act this wound. Eye for an eye, that's what grandpa would say.

Most say grandpa Thwick was crazy, even before they games. Say he used to cut up the cows and drown the chickens when wasn't nobody around. I found that hard to believe because when I was little he would tell me. "There's always a reason." There's always a reason.


	4. Chapter 4

The Reaping is tomorrow. I've decided I'm going to vaulunteer. After yesterdays trip to the library when I chose to stumble into the ancient history section and my fingers landed on something called "The 2020 Election" I ended up diving in deep to this concept of a conspiracy. The conspiracy that I live in what's called a fracture. A fracture is the proper term for a moment in time when reality becomes an illusion and what's presented is a lie.

The concept of 'The mass spree' was very interesting. Found among the pages of the twenty first century was the day man kind became a savage beast. Studies show that a massive increase in the availability in pornography and the substances all governments worldwide were feeding their people caused a disruption in the male psyche. Throughout the years a concept of Women rising above became so competitive the men began lash out. Killings, massive outrageous killings convincing the world man had become evil.

What was most alluring to me was the underground community at the time. The rich, those children who never knew struggles, for years delved in the things their manipulated minds believed they desired. The poor, sold into a different kind of slavery for years and years. Covered up with distractions. Films, books, celebrations, games...

Who's to say the capitol is innocent in this kind of diversion. I don't know why but it's suddenly all I can think about. Up on my bed, as I sort through pages on the floor, resides one of the books I borrowed yesterday. A fictional novel written by a boy just before the destruction of district 13. A book of life inside the walls of a facility where the rich turn you into something much worse than an evening meal. While yes they are feasting your body remains intact after they've eaten you.

Those poor things. The only thing they will ever experience is the life of objectification. Boys and girls alike to suffer till their owners deside it's time to gut them like one of the pigs by the butchers shop. The amount of animals he slaughters a day probably can't even hold a candle to the cities beneath the Capitol.

As I pull out the four pairs of socks I've been alternating to decide which one I would be wearing tomorrow I think of a few things. First, what persona would I chose to present to the audience? I don't particularly have one locked down. Beneath me I see four different versions of myself. Second, do i pity the career district? It's possible with the amount of beauty their young posses that most of the pickings come from their trees. Third, I need to do something so different.

I chose the red pair.

Despite only wearing them for half a day yesterday it dawns me that while wearing them I had my first moment of clarity. A sense of urgency about me. A soft seductive tone. That, that right there, will be my angle. I will be my body.

I look up to catch my mother's silhouette slipping away from the crack in the frame as though she had been spying on me. In concern, I rise. Making my way to the door I call out to her. "Please talk to me." She pauses but does not turn to look at my face.

"I think I made a mistake giving you the red socks." She whispers.

"Why?" As I ask I move closer to her only to stop as she walks over to wrap her arms over my neck to pull me into a hug. It's one of the first I've had in a long time and I'm not sure how to feel. I can't think without my socks.

"You act like your grandfather when you wear them."

I only had them on for a day. Wait, she was frightened of me even before I had put them on yesterday. "There's more you're not telling me." I urged her on. If she needed to talk to me she knows she can.

Letting out a sigh she releases me from her grasp, "I know what your planning and Logan... I beg you. Don't." She means volunteering.

"I'm bored with this life mother." I try to tell her.

"Oh please..." Her face becomes angry, "My child will not commit suicide on account of simple boredom. I won't even permit the sheer joke of it." She steps down the stair case without looking back.

Today I will wear the blue socks. I'd like to be seen as emotional. I can't seem to do that without feeling the hole in the toe of my left foot that only the blue pair has. It humbles me I think, becoming frustrated over a simple inconvenience before looking over and seeing those less fortunate than myself and automatically feeling the woe of those around me. I cannot even bear to smile.

My eyes find the dark corridor in the back of the house. The third and final bedroom in the house, the master bedroom in which we keep a monster on lockdown. Grandfather thwick is dying. by this time next year mother and I will be back in a town house.

I know how he feels sometimes. Like when it snows, the pond out by the victors community is frozen and many men, women, and children spend their time racing around the edges to pass the time until a warmer season returns. I believe winter is my favorite season. The best adventures occur when no one else is around. When no ones watching. When it's just you and your imagination. Was it real? Nothing feels real when you're going in circles coming to a pause only to peer over the semi circle concrete wall just before the drop off over the cliff and down the reveine.

Life is that ring for the people of district ten. A circle of cold mistakes that always brings you back to where you started. Well I'm not staying in the ring long enough for it to thaw. I'm leaving before the first flake melts.

As I make my way to his living quarters I feel a sudden warmth embrace me. Like a spirit when you've finally reached your limit. A good place to balance yourself. I sit down in the chair beside his bed. He sleeps right beside the window. In case he ever decides to escape. I can see it in his eyes, even as he lies there almost completely separated from reality.

"I found your book, in the library." I tell him. "You never told me you were a writer... Why did you choose to make them all so... bazaar?" As I sit back my eyes find the window and just outside I can see Old lady Fewtom. The winner of the fifth annual hunger-games. She's so strong for her age. Tending to her gardens as she has for well over forty years.

"I especially admire the goat boy. The one out by the falls, luring the other characters in with a fond sadness and a promise of love he never delivers." I doubt he'd ever respond, I simply enjoy just telling him things.

To my surprise he rolls his head over and looks at me with a furrowed brow. "He does love them. Each and every one of them. That's why he kills them." His voice isn't strained like I had expected had he ever chose to acknowledge me. Needless to say his soothing deep sound is one I'm thrilled to hear after such a long time.

"I'm going to volunteer tomorrow at the reaping." I wanted to tell him fast, as if I would never get a chance to hear a response from him again.

To my relief. "Go for it..." He's not letting me down. "Be sure to leave your prints in the sand Logan." He groans as he rests his head back.

I take this as my cue to leave.


	5. Chapter 5

I feel rather sentimental,

As my feet crunch against the hard ground and the dry cold air takes my breath away I squint my eyes to see Miranda perched outside her hen house. Rakeen and the boys are standing over by the fence, he has a cigarette between his lips and a slight look of discontent on his face. As I gather up Miranda's eggs, saving at least six for mother and I, I wonder why they aren't making their usual calls to me.

They don't even seem interested to be here. As though it's some sort of daily chore. It angers me. As I approach the fence one of the younger boys stands up off the ground and points a finger in my face. "What kind of game are you playing Mitchel."

"Easy killer." Rakeen jerks the kid back by the hood of his jacket. "Peyton's been telling everyone that if his name isn't called out tomorrow he's going to volunteer."Throwing an arm over one of his knees as he rests against one of the podiums he frowns at me. "Said something about you telling him to go get his life or some crazy gauze. What's that about?"

His bigger friend gently removes the eggs from my clutch and cradles them like it's livelihood. I sense a manliness their group had not shared before. It excites me. They're growing into mature adults and I've gotten to witness that.

"He was emotional, distrought even. Worried to death about the possibility of being chosen. I made him see as something other than a death wish. An opportunity to shine. Just because he's limited does not mean he has no chance." I try to explain but I steel feel like it's not enough. "I doubt he will but if he does I say go district ten." As I'm rambling I snag the cigarette from Rakeens lips, take a long drag and pass it back. "I say he has a good a chance as any of us." I blow out the smoke.

"Why don't you volunteer then?" Says the fourth and probably youngest in their crew. He means it as an insult I know but I simply smile.

"I just might." I look back at the house to see Fernando grazing. "Tell you what. If Peyton or I get selected tomorrow and lose the games, you can have Miranda."

"We can't do that to your mother." Says Rakeen.

"We want the horse to." Says the youngest.

"She hates eggs." I turn to look at the kid who spoke to me in order to direct him like a man. "If you win the games bossman I will cook him for you personally." This only frightened him.

"Me? Win the games." He looked at the other little boy and they both just looked dumbfounded.

"Your on." Says the guy holding the eggs. Why can't I remember his name? I just knew it yesterday. I didn't see them yesterday.

"I'll see you guys tomorrow? Same time?" I call out as I realize they're already halfway down the drive.

Rakeen turns to smile at me. "Wouldn't miss it for the world."

I can't help but laugh as he accidentally bumps into a confused Camille who had been standing there for quite some time.

She staring at me with those massive eyes and I can't help but feel like I've done something wrong. Mother looks at me that way sometimes and she nor her either one would be the first to say something.

"Hi Camile?" I smile.

"You're volunteering tomorrow?" My eyes find the basket in her hands. In it is a blanket and what appears to be a bottle of wine.

"I was thinking about it why?"

"Oh..." She lifts a hand to scratch her head. "I'll have to try and translate this into Logan language." The expression on her face becomes one I never see and she shuts her eyes. "I... wanted... your character... to be... in my story for a while. I was expecting it anyway." I can see the sorrow painting over her brow as she lowers her eyes to the dirt on the ground that looks grey in this early morning mist. "Oh well right... maybe I can find some interesting characters down at the library..." She nods her head as she starts walking away.

"Wait." I wasn't expecting myself to jump so quickly. "Don't leave." I take her by the hand. "Walk with me to the orchard. I'd like to share a vision with you."

I call them visions but mother calls it daydreaming. Daydreaming comes in flashes. Quick images that most of the time only consist of words in the brain. No these are vast, drawn out, and complicated visions that feel to good to simply call a dream. These are universes I have the ability to bring to life.

"You're insane you know that." The suns rising, she has a point.

We've been out here for hours, my mother's probably worried sick but I honestly couldn't care any less. I finally have a chance to bring to life a mere fantasy and I'm going for it. Of course none of the outside factors are controlled. I can only move the chess pieces on my side of the board. Either way, it's sure to be exciting.

"The reaping isn't until six." Says camille. She's yet to give me a response and it's driving me insane.

She turns, sighs, and I hear her feet crunch against the cold hard ground as she walks away. As much as I love dramatic exits, I need her. Here lately there's been such a rise in characters reaching out from their own ink to purposely touch my own. Her letters and mine have the same blood sacrifice. I feel that in no one else.

What will it be like, to stand among the other eighteen year olds and wait for them to call out a name. Will it be my name? Will I Volunteer? Will Peyton? Someone gets to be the main-character this afternoon and I really want it to be me. Even if it's just for a second.

I have to see even just a freckle of light from the capitols box of secrets. There's so many just waiting to be explored. So many adventures swimming around in a vault like fireflies in a mason jar. So much life to die for.


End file.
